Skin on Skin on Metal
by sai-salamander
Summary: Written for a drabble-prompt. Dean/Castiel/Impala sort of . Rather sexual


**Author's Note:** Title taken (partially) from Queens of the Stone Age's utterly filthy Skin on Skin, which was totally looped while writing this. Hur hur hur.

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Skin on Skin on Metal

Dean had a one track mind. Mostly, its track involved sex. And, disturbingly enough, ever since Castiel had stalked onto the scene with his dishevelled hair and his trenchcoat and his crooked tie, well, Dean's track had been skipping somewhat. He just kept on coming back to the memory of Castiel's head tilting as he stared right into his goddamn soul. And, more recently, the memory of the angel suddenly appearing in the passenger seat of the Impala as if he belonged there.

It all started with _the dream_. Falling asleep while reading a book about angels might not have done anything to another guy, but for some bizarre reason, it had been like Dean'd fallen asleep during porn or something. Cas was the main star which, okay, was _not_ natural, but Dean's track insisted that sex was sex and he went with it.

The morning after, he'd woken up with the most raging hard on he'd ever had in his life. Painful, too. After oh, about six more of these dreams, Dean decided that something had to be done. And fast.

So the next time he turned round a split-second before Cas appeared, Dean was ready. He grabbed Castiel by his crooked tie and yanked him forward, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Castiel looked puzzled, and tilted his head in that infuriatingly attractive way. "It is raining."

"Shut up," growled Dean. And he kissed him. The kiss was hard, and Castiel was anything but pliant, but as Dean shoved him up against the Impala, he realised that this was exactly what he wanted - and what he'd been wanting for the last goddamn month. All those uncomfortable son of a bitch mornings culminating in this. Kissing an angel of the freakin' Lord, and torrential rain be damned. He took a second to be thankful that he'd parked up somewhere secluded, and that Sam was off stuck in a library somewhere, researching his little socks off.

It occurred to Dean, as he fumbled with his baby's back door, that this was the second angel he'd got in the back of his car. But then Cas was learning, and learning fast, and his shirt was off before he could blink - before he could even get the door open. Cas shrugged off that ridiculously sexy trenchcoat - a little awkwardly - and then allowed Dean to whip the tie from around his neck, and work at the buttons of his shirt.

"This," he mumbled, "is much harder from this side." But then Cas had his fingers in Dean's hair, and his shirt was off, and Dean's jeans were feeling strained. Wet denim wasn't the best of materials to get an erection in, on second thoughts, but Castiel's mouth and hands and crotch were so distracting that Dean didn't care. At this point, a pink elephant juggling knives could unicycle past and Dean wouldn't care, just as long as Cas kept on doing that thing with his tongue, oh yeah, and grinding against Dean like it was his first time.

Shit. "Cas?" Dean hesitated. "Is this…have you done this before? You know," he waved a hand. "This?"

"If you mean fornication, Dean, then no." His cheeks had a touch of colour to them, and Dean was fascinated to see that he was breathing heavily and about as dry as a very dry thing.

Watching Castiel's face, Dean dropped a hand to the waistband of his pants, delighting in the quick intake of breath he provoked. Cas closed his eyes and sank his head back, revealing bare flesh at his neck. Dean ran his tongue up it, his hands working to remove the angel's pants as quickly as possible.

"Can't you angel-fu these damned things out of the way, or something?"

No sooner were the words out of Dean's mouth than their remaining clothes disappeared, and Cas stared at him, unreadable as always.

"You only had to ask, Dean," he said. His voice was deeper than usual, and it held a sort of roughness to it, like he was exercising the utmost restraint. The thought that he could, at any moment, take complete control over the situation made Dean, if anything, more horny than he already was.

He braced himself against the Impala as Castiel took tentative hold of both their dicks. He moved his hand, slowly, the newness of the feelings showing in his widened eyes and ragged breaths.

Dean thrust his hips with Castiel's uncertain rhythm, and a moan broke from the angel's lips. The sound was so erotic that Dean almost lost control, but he clenched his fist on the roof of the Impala, focusing on the slippery metal rather than the feeling of Castiel's long-fingered, teasing hands. He learned fast, Dean shouldn't be shocked at that fact any more, but hell, he didn't think Castiel could make him feel _this_ good.

Cas placed his free hand on Dean's shoulder, fitting his fingers into place like they belonged there, and the jolt that sprang through him was electrifying. Like lightning, he got a shock of feelings laced through his thoughts - _oh Lord too good hold back can't let go Dean Dean oh_ - and he gasped at their intensity. He hadn't realised just how much energy it took to keep Castiel in his vessel, to stop his true form shining through.

Echoes of Cas lingered at the edge of his mind, and the delicious pressure of pleasure building up was too much for Dean to bear. He felt Castiel's mind fade to incoherency a split-second before he lost all semblance of thought, and the warm flood from both their dicks heated his belly and coated Cas's clever fingers.

Dean leaned forward, suddenly, and bumped his forehead onto Castiel's shoulder, breathing in the smell of rain on hot metal, and sex, and clean angel skin.

He inhaled, shakily, and laughed into Cas's shoulder. "I think we just had a threesome with my car."


End file.
